


Obsession

by 0TheRainbowMind0, julidoesnotwrites (notjuli)



Series: obsession 'verse [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Obsessive Behavior, Sherlock Being Annoying, Sherlock Being an Asshole, fatshaming, mentions of eating disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22205722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0TheRainbowMind0/pseuds/0TheRainbowMind0, https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjuli/pseuds/julidoesnotwrites
Summary: In the aftermath of a Holmes brothers argument Mycroft has to deal with a truth exposed, with a secret come to light and some other things. The results could be catastrophic, and will definitely be unexpected.From the prompt: "Sherlock is an annoying brother to Mycroft and an insensitive brat to pretty much everyone else, but this time 'round, Greg might want to thank him, as he revealed that Mycroft is interested in him."
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: obsession 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598473
Comments: 9
Kudos: 134





	Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> English is neither of ours first language, so if you notice any errors please do leave a comment letting us know!

It was a bad day. A hot summer day, making everyone irritable, and they had reached a slow point in their current case. Sherlock had been in a mood all day, snapping at John repeatedly and at Lestrade over the phone nonstop until Lestrade hung up on him and didn't pick up his calls anymore. John was decidedly ignoring him, not falling for the jabs intending to start a fight.

After laying dramatically on the couch for close to an hour, pacing around the flat over and over and over again, trying -and failing- to sneak cigarettes past John on four occasions already and repeatedly checking both his email and phone for new messages, emails or calls, it seemed like the awful day had finally got to Sherlock, as he collapsed on his armchair and stayed there, silent, all of his movement reduced to the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. John would worry about him if he didn't know any better, but honestly he couldn't help but be grateful for the moment of peace.

Obviously, it was not going to last.

“What do you want, Mycroft?” Sherlock groans loudly, he turns his head and glare at newcomer in his flat. He had almost fell asleep -even though he would die before admitting so-, before he noticed the heavy footsteps on the stairs, that he quickly recognised as his brother.

John couldn't help the muttered curse that escaped him. The usual interactions between the brothers were bad enough already, but with the mood Sherlock was in today it would be so very much worse. He rose from his seat, greeted Mycroft in that quick, sharp way they usually greeted each other, and executed a tactical withdrawal to the kitchen with the excuse of getting a drink, even if it was plainly obvious to all parties present that he was just escaping the room and the consequent argument that would follow.

"Good afternoon, brother mine." Mycroft, dressed in an implacable suit as usual, ignored the obvious annoyance from his brother, "Good afternoon to you, too, Doctor Watson."

John murmurs his greet with a nod and braces himself for the inevitable argument to come.

"Why are you here, Fatcroft?" Sherlock sits up, folding his arms, "Not a new case, obviously."

"Mummy called. She expresses her wish of visiting London with Father soon."

"Then you can arrange something yourself." Sherlock stands and walks to the kitchen to pour himself a cool drink. Damn the weather is too much for him.

"Mummy wants to see you, Sherlock."

"No."

"No?"

"Are you deaf? Do you need a medical check up, see if your old age and over excess of sugar deflected your hearing? I said no, I don't want her to be here."

"I appreciate your concern with my health, but I am perfectly fine.” Mycroft gives him his usual non-smile, “Mummy requested to meet you, and Doctor Watson.”

John looked up at that. “Me? Wh-”

“Is she asking about you bringing anyone around again, Mycroft?” Sherlock asks, taking a seat in his armchair again.

Both John and Mycroft look at Sherlock quizzically, and a frown presents itself on Mycroft's face at the topic.

“I will not go just so you can hide in your office,” Sherlock continues.

“Mummy said,” Mycroft emphasizes, “She wants to see you. Wants you to host something for her and Father.”

“So she can see I have John with me?”

John cringes at the sound of that. “Erm, that sounds…”

“There is no presumption on our own mother’s thought, Sherlock.”

“She wants to check on her sons wellbeing."

"That is obvious." Mycroft snorts humourless.

"And that is enough information. You want to use my and John's companionship to distract her endless nagging of your solitude lifestyle."

"I have no intention of using you as a distraction, as you said. I've only come to inform you that you are expected to be a good host for Mummy and Father." Mycroft twists his umbrella impatiently, "And I was forced to come tell you in person, seeing as you were not answering my calls or messages."

"She will see me and John happy and she will haunt you further, Mycroft. It is no use."

"Haunt is a bit of a harsh word for this context, don't you think so, brother dear?" Mycroft rolls his eyes. "I am not asking you, I am just informing you, Sherlock."

"Why should I listen to you?" Sherlock leans forward in his seat, "Why should I help you with hiding in your misery? Your lonesomeness?"

"I am not-"

"Yes, you are! You are fat, self-conscious and have an awfully low self-esteem! You keep putting an aloof and arrogant mask just to throw people out of your way. Are you on a diet, no carbs and running daily again? How long has this one been going on for? For a week I think. Oh, it was no doubt a miserable week for your diet, for sure. You never succeed in getting away from your carvings for long, I doubt it will last. You will always be fat, and you are losing hair like a cat. You will always be lonely and miserable. And that makes you more self conscious and it starts all again! It is a terribly bad cycle you have going on there,  _ brother mine, _ " He finished, the last words loaded with sarcasm.

"I am  _ not _ lonely. I don't even eat that many sweets. I am  _ busy _ , and  _ stressed _ with  _ work,  _ a  _ real job  _ Sherlock, but you wouldn't know about those. But I am definitely  _ not lonely  _ and I definitely  _ do not _ need a goldfish!" Mycroft busted, face flushing from anger and embarrassment.

"HA! You say? I didn't even mention goldfish, you did! Because you  _ are _ lonely, and you want to find someone! Like I found myself a John. But no, not this John, this John is mine." Sherlock grins mercilessly.

"If you are using this argument as an excuse to get away from hosting Mummy you should stop already Sherlock." Mycroft spins his umbrella subconsciously, he is annoyed.

"Don't you use me as an excuse to get out of this, Mycroft! You know I'm right! You have your minions do all your work for you, and you do absolutely nothing but to spy on people through CCTV's. Maybe if you stopped manipulating people that much, you wouldn't be that lonely and empty."

"What empty? Stop being absurd, Sherlock. I don't manipulate people, I merely just advise people on matters. No, Sherlock, stop whatever you think you are doing." Mycroft lifts up one finger in the air and repeats slowly, emphasising each word, "I am  _ not _ lonely. I don't need a goldfish. I don't need a  _ John _ ."

Sherlock lifts his eyebrows, looks offended for a moment, but then he looks past Mycroft, at something behind him and breaks into a smirk, which soon turns into a grin.

"Oh, oh, yes, yes, brother mine. You are lonely, you do need a goldfish, but you certainly not needing a  _ John _ ." Sherlock changes his posture.

Mycroft frowns, brace himself for the antics from his brother.

"You do need goldfish, you just need a silver one don't you?"

"Sherlock..." Mycroft warns, voice low, color draining from his face.

"So I am right? Ooh, I have to admit Mycroft, I was not expecting this, I hadn't even seen it until just now, but what an interesting development this is." Sherlock is gloating now.

"What are you on now, Sherlock?" Mycroft asks, trying to look unaffected.

"What am I on? Does he know brother? That your constant approach with excuses of, hmm, concern about me, are nothing more than that? Excuses to see him? Excuses to micromanage his schedule, his working hours, his  _ life,  _ like the control freak you are? Where have you met already? Where have you taken him to, Mycroft? You office, his workplace, on cases too. What else? Have you been to his place? Have you taken him to one of your houses spread around the country? To one of the many you have just in the city even? No, you didn't. You wouldn't dare. He would know, then. He would know and he would be repulsed. He would know and he would leave you for good. He would know how weird and obsessive you are."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft roared, face red and fists clenched. John looked ready to step in. Whether to break a fight or to clock Sherlock on the jaw himself he wasn't sure yet.

"Oh, no. You are pathetic. You are lonely. You are love sick! Why would he want you? Fat, old, awkward, strange, so smart but so dull. What was the last time that, what's his name again? Jackson? Peter? Owen? Never mind, all your ex-es, what were the reasons? Workaholic, ruthless, controler, manipulator, neglector, boring, and whatnot? Oh, now I remember, it was Alexander Muchini, the tycoon of chain bakery, he said the only time that you looked lovingly at something, which I find ridiculous to have such concept associate with you, was when you looked at his strawberry cheesecake. You looked at him like you looked at paperwork and at the time, even when in bed."

"ENOUGH!" Mycroft roared and took two intimidating steps forward.

"Sherlock! STOP IT!" John finally steps in, he places himself between them and presses his palm on Sherlock's chest, "That is enough Sherlock, more than enough. Quite too much actually!"

"I haven't even got to half of it! John! He fancies Goofy! How can he?! He is our friend! My friend! His high cholesterol body and butter oil filled heart likes Goofy!"

"Who!?" If it wasn't for the situation, which was way out of hand and too outrageous, John would laugh. Goofy? Mickey Mouse's friend?

Mycroft takes one last deep breath trying to calm himself. He's had enough. "I am out of here Sherlock, and we will have a talk later. And you are still hosting Mummy next weekend. Doctor Watson." He nods his farewell at John and turns, only to lock eyes with someone at the door and freeze on his spot.

"LESTRADE!" Sherlock shouts.

"Erm, hi? You don't have to shout that loud, I'm right here you know? And among the names that you always miscalling me, Goofy is a new low, even for you Sherlock."

Mycroft stares, mouth agape. "E-Excuse me." He stumbles, face flushed red, eyes wide with fear and shock. He did not bother, or more specifically, couldn't even remember his usual manner and 'escape routine', he just quickly passes through and rushes down the staircase, not even noticing Mrs. Hudson was around the corner nor hearing her greeting.

"Sherlock? What have you done this time? Your brother looks paler than ever!" Mrs. Hudson calls out from downstairs, bags from the shop still in hands.

"Erm, nothing, Mrs. Hudson." John calls back, he peeks through the door frame, "Do you need any help with the shops?"

"Is alright, just a few bags, I can handle perfectly fine. Thank you dear."

John closes the door, and folds his arms, turning to look at Sherlock with a somber look.

"Not good?" Sherlock asks, only now realising the unhappy, displeased, look on John's face.

"Sherlock." Greg sighed out loud, "That was definitely not good." He rubbed his eyes with his palms. "Actually, scratch that, that was fucking horrible mate. Why would you say all that to your brother? Why would you say that to  _ anyone _ ?"

" _ Don't _ answer that," hissed John. "It's a rhetorical question. And Jesus Christ, Sherlock, I know you and Mycroft are always fighting but this was different, that was not a fight, that was straight up cruelty."

"He started it John! And I didn't say anything he didn't know already! How is that cruelty?"

"Because someone already knows something doesn't mean they want to hear it. Even less have it spit on their faces so harshly, and worse yet with so much crap as you said there Sherlock." Greg sounded tired, mostly, but there was an undertone of sadness Sherlock had never heard from him before.

"All that crap about his ex-es, that's just rubbing it in, that's cruel. And both  _ they _ were cruel if things were as you said, which honestly I doubt very much, and  _ you  _ were cruel rubbing it in. And all the fat bullshit, that's straight up mean Sherlock, and a five year old knows that, and it's so inconsiderate to so many people! Does your brother have any eating disorders or issues of any kind? Do you even know that? Do you have any idea how much worse everything you say about him is if he has any? And if he does and this has been going on for as long as you both make it seem it has, there's a high chance that all your insults are part of the cause. They are definitely an issue, disorder or not, that much I can tell you." He muttered something under his breath and started pacing around. 

"Honestly, Sherlock, you  _ know  _ what it's like being the butt of the joke, being one the receiving end of constant taunts and insults, one would think you would be a little more considerate.  _ Especially _ with  _ your own fucking brother,  _ Holy Christ. The whole thing about the ex-es? You had no business bringing that up Sherlock, really, way out of line."

"Are you quite done yet?"

"No I am not, you bloody prat. Are you even listening to me?"

"I've heard every word, but I believe you may need to hear a few, too."

"I shouldn't even listen to you," he mumbled, exasperated. Resigned. "Go on then, let's see what you've got to say to me."

At that, Sherlock got up and started pacing around. "I believe you don't know a thing about my brother if you are as invested in defending his honour as you seem to be. He obsesses over everything. He wants something, he will do everything to get it. And he is currently obsessed with  _ you.  _ And in case you haven't noticed already, he's been manipulating you already, with fake excuses for meetings, 'chance' encounters all over the place and who knows how many other tactics he's used on you already."

"You know what Sherlock? I may know next to nothing about your brother, but at least I know he's a human being, and I treat him as such, with the respect he deserves and the commonmind sense of not being a fucking asshole every time I bloody see him, which seems to be more than what his own bloody brother can do, Christ." He gathered the things he'd brought with that had ended up in a pile next to the door. "And now if you don't mind, some of us have work to do, especially now that I'm not letting you touch these files and you are out of this case. And every other case I can get away with all by myself for the next few months at least. I'm out, don't bother calling me." He turned. "John," he nodded towards him. "Call me for a pint sometime this week, I'll definitely be needing it."

John mumbled an agreement and with that he was off, running down the stairs and out of Baker Street faster than he'd ever run before.

He didn't get too far though, as he stopped no more than a few blocks down to clear his head. It took him a couple minutes, and he wasted another few deciding whether to try and go after Mycroft or not. In the end, the choice was taken out of his hands. A call arrived from one of the new officers on his team about a new body found in the skip behind the first victim's flat and  _ Jesus Christ,  _ Greg needed a break.

But when duty calls, duty calls.

As the investigation continues Greg can't help but feel uneasy. He has in his many years in the force learnt many things, and the most important one is to trust his instincts. And his instincts right now are telling him that things are getting out of hand.

Markus Mihhad, 38, single, male, born in Scotland, freelance web designer, got his degree in London and has been living in the city since. Their prints scan gave them as much. Clean background except a few speeding and red-light tickets.

Something is not right. His instincts are telling him so. Why would he be dead here now if everything was ok? Too clean of a record maybe, or the profession choice, but something is not right.

Most people do have clean and normal record, but not this guy.

And maybe he looks familiar?

Greg took out his phone, and dials a number that he was proud to have. Not everyone has Mycroft Holmes' number after all.

Over the years they had communicated quite a lot. They usually text, calls usually reserved for emergencies, except for the very few times Greg can remember that the calls seemed to be for catching up and little else.

Surely this can be considered an emergency and Mycroft should pick up... or not.

It went straight to voicemail.

Cursing, Greg tries again, with the same result.

He decided to try and text, but after a few attempt to compose a message, as simple as 'do you know this person', and never getting it quite right, he curses again, probably a little too loud judging by the way his team is looking at him.

He murmurs an excuse and walks out of the room, dialing another number this time, knowing that he should be able to reach through and get to business right away.

"Good afternoon," he greets, because he is a polite man and if there's one thing Mum would never tolerate was a lack of manners. He does not dwell on it though, knowing that business is business. "Does the name Markus Mihhad rings something for you?"

It was not the shortest conversation he's had on his life, but it's up there. He was not expecting to be hinged up on.

He looks at his phone in disbelief.

What the–

His phone rang, an undisclosed number.  _ Crap, _ this is serious.

"Get your team to gather all the information on this case, including the previous victim Detective Inspector, and have it ready." Before Greg could reply, the other end hung up the phone again.

"Oh Christ! Bloody Christ!" He ruffles his hair, making it more of a disaster than it already was and walks back inside. "Ok guys! Stop what you are doing, and start wrapping up! This is now out of our hands!"

Muttered curses all around, but Greg didn't have the time nor energy to say anything else, instead calling the reminder of his team to cease activity and gather reports.

Within an hour, everyone is back at New Scotland Yard and it is not hard to see the displeasure on most faces. It is always annoying to give up their hard work to whichever official entity got ahold of it each time. Three sleepless nights of his team now down the drain. Or, not exactly, but  _ they _ wouldn't get the satisfaction of finishing the case themselves.

Greg understands the necessity to hand it over, but it does not mean he feels all too happy about it himself.

"Do not worry detective inspector, yours and your team's effort will not be forgotten nor will it go unrewarded."

Greg looked at the beautiful, smart, seemingly ageless woman he has known for years now, always seeing her alongside Mycroft and engrossed on her phone.

He nodded a greeting and a smile flashed across her face, even if her eyes never left the screen of the device in her hands. Sometimes he wonders if she won't have some type of eye damage, being so close to a screen all day, every day.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Is he some new MI6 guy?" Greg asks. "I know you probably can't answer that, sorry."

"MI5, actually."

"Eh? The last time... Nevermind actually..." Greg presses his lips together, tucks his hands into his pocket and shrugs again, "So both, eh? Is that legal?"

She smiles at her phone, but Greg knows it was for him.

The conversation stops, the silence between them filled with the noises of the work around them. They just watch over the operation, both Greg's team and the MI5 people moving files and talking details. Finally, one of the suits nod at her.

"We are done here. See you around, Detective–" Anthea nods to her men and they start to leave the area.

"Wait, erm…" Greg cuts off Anthea, who just gives him a raising eyebrows, await his words patiently, "Have you... seen Mycroft lately?"

Anthea gives him a look. A look that is obviously saying 'are you serious?' A look that reminds him of Sherlock's face when he is not seeing something apparently 'obvious' to the detective. He scoffs.

“You know what I meant. Have you seen him today? In the past few hours?”

“I am his PA.” Anthea gives Greg a smirk, finally putting the phone in her pocket.

“I know. The best one.” Greg chuckles.

“He is downstairs.” Anthea tilts her head.

Greg grins and ruffles his hair again.

“Can I…?”

Anthea looks at him with an amusing look. An ‘I know everything’ look that almost makes Greg blush. She doesn't answer, but gives a minimal nod and turns towards the lift.

He clears his throat, yells for Sally and lets her in charge, and follows her with a quick step, not trusting her to hold the lift and wait for him.

They end up walking down the hall and outside, towards the black sedan that parked at the side of the building. Before stepping out of the pavement, Anthea turns to face him.

“Greg.” She says. He watches her cautiously. “I'm saying this completely out of record and because I like you, ok?" He can barely even nod. "Mycroft is my boss, but more than that he is my friend, and my family. And I will not let any harm come to him, not in a professional manner nor in a personal one.”

Greg nods, lost but letting her continue.

"As I've said, I like you, and I believe you could be good for him. He needs someone. And I think you'd fit the part beautifully." She pauses for a moment, waiting for him to look at her. Their eyes finally meet and hers are telling stories he couldn't understand if he had all the time in the world to try and decipher them. "I  _ like  _ you, and you would be good for him, but hear me because I'm saying this just once. You hurt him and there  _ will  _ be consequences. Are we clear?"

A shiver ran through him. It was not a threat, he got that, it was a promise. He nodded. "Yes, yes of course."

She frowned at him for another moment and gave a nod, mostly to herself. "Ok, yes. Now. Get in the car."

Greg scrambled into movement at that, his frozen spell broken. "Wait! Wait, wait. Is he... in the car?" She raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to turn towards him again. "Yes, yes, you said he was here, right. Right..." He turns to look at her one last time before marching towards the black sedan.

"My dear, you are 6.3 minutes later than expected, what– GREGORY?!" Mycroft was looking at the file on his lap when the door opened and he didn't bother looking up immediately. When he did, though, his mind went blank.

"The second time in a day I manage to catch you by surprise, will the Queen offer me a knighthood for that?" Greg grins. "Good afternoon, Mycroft. May I come in?"

"N–"

"Ah, thanks!" Greg slides in and close the door, ignoring the negative from Mycroft. "I am sorry about your loss of your agent." He speaks conversationally, not giving time for Mycroft to interject.

"Not my agent, Gregory. He is an MI5 agent. It is a loss for our country, but he is not my agent. I just hold a minor position on the government, as you already know."

"Minor my arse." Greg rolls his eyes, "the last time we used your help it was MI6, today is MI5, to have connections with both, to be the one to take cases from the Yard, that's not minor, Mycroft."

He shakes his head, knowing this conversation won't take them anywhere. And from the look Mycroft is giving him, he's thinking the same thing. He decides to drop the topic.

No one said a thing for a few moments and the silence stretched between them. When Greg looked back up he noted Mycroft's stare on him.

"Do I have something on my face?"

"N-no." Another moment of silence. "Why are you here Gregory?"

"Why weren't you picking up my calls?"

"I am a busy man Gregory, I was preoccupied."

"Bullshit." Greg sneered.

"Excuse me?" Mycroft asked, affronted.

"I said bullshit. You may be a busy man Mycroft, I imagine running a country is not easy, but you were not busy today. Not when you had time to sit here in your car and wait while Anthea dealt with all the circus going on at the Yard with that agent and whatnot."

“I really do not know about where this running the country rumor is coming from.” Mycroft says innocently.

“Well, that’s not what I heard from Sherl–”

“Sherlock is a petulant child who never grew up  _ and  _ a drama queen."

“So what he said back in Baker Street is not at all true?”

The change in conversation is quick and unexpected, drawing Mycroft to a stop for a moment.

“Sherlock has no idea what he is talking about half the time, as you may have noticed, he does not know what he said, Detective Ins–”

“Greg. And yes, Sherlock has no brain to mouth filter, other than sometimes John, but he is no liar.” Greg gives Mycroft a stern look, “I wouldn't want to know my elder brother to call me a liar to cover something up, if I had one."

“I don’t have anything to cover up. What happened in Baker Street... How much did you hear, Detect– Gregory?”

“I don’t know, Mycroft. Enough to know you like me?”

“You are a kind, honorable man, everyone likes you. Sherlock likes you, Dr. Watson likes you, even Anthea has expressed a liking to you, too. Now, if you will excuse me, I do need to leave.” At some point during the conversation, Mycroft has pressed himself against the door, and he is quick to unlock it now in an attempt to duck out.

Greg, quick to react as he always is, and thank God for his instincts he thinks, pulls Mycroft away from the door by his tie and grabbing a handful of his suit jacket. He quickly stretches across Mycroft to reach the door, pulls it closed and locks it again 

Mycroft's eyes widen the moment he feels the pull from his tie and jacket, a sharp inhale turned into a choke and then a sharp exhale against Greg's stubble when noticing how close they ended up.

Sting. That's the first word to appear in Mycroft's mind. H-He kisses Gregory?! After that no more thoughts register for a second.

Soft, is the word that pops into Greg's mind when he registered the softness he felt at his cheek. So fucking soft that Greg has to force all his will power to not attack those reddish lips with his own.

They both freeze on the spot for a painfully long beat, before Greg loosens his grip on the tie.

"I never would have expected you to do such a thing, Mycroft. Trying to run off a car? You could've gotten hurt!" Greg exclaimed, "And, it's a very low move."

"I wouldn't." Mycroft protests, "I have done this countless times, open the door and leave the car, there is no danger in it if you didn't pull me back like this."

"That's called escape, not leaving the car, Mycroft." Greg frowns.

"Am I that irritating that you can’t stand to stay in the same place?”

“Will you let go of my tie?”

Both of them speak almost at the same time.

“No.” Greg refuses.

He tightens his hold and pulls Mycroft towards him again. However, Mycroft seems to be prepared now, as he grabs his tie as well, higher than Greg's hold, and tries to push back.

Greg just won't have that. He takes a hold of Mycroft's shoulder, a bit of his neck, and pulls.

“W-What are you doing, Gregory?” Mycroft's other hand drops the file he was holding, papers falling everywhere, and he brings it up to Greg's shoulder, to push, and he manages to leave a gap between them.

“Tell me, Mycroft.” Instead of answering, Greg looks into Mycroft’s eyes intensely, “Look at me in the eyes and tell me is Sherlock is a lying bastard.”

Heart beating fast, Mycroft can't help but appreciate the moment, being the first time that he's come this close to the other man, the one person to capture his attention like very few others have ever done.

He is an amazing liar, his line of work requires him to be. He has lied without batting an eye to terrorists after hours of torture, to the Prime Minister to be owned another favour, to world leaders of most of the free world and some of the not-so-free in multiple occasions. Hell, he's lied to the Queen in her face when asked if that particular shade of neon green suited her well, and she ate his compliments like a sweet treat. He has to be an amazing liar, and he is.

But this man. This middle aged, Scotland Yard Detective Inspector, _this_ _fucking man._ He's caught off guard, he has to admit. It's not often that he is, but this whole day has been unexpected after unexpected events and reactions. Sherlock bringing up _that_ topic? Unexpected. Him breaking down so easily to Sherlock's taunts? Unexpected _and_ now Sherlock knows of a sore spot for him. Gregory being there? Unexpected. Gregory being here, in this very car, this very moment? Gregory stopping him from escaping? Him _kissing_ Gregory? Gregory still wanting to talk? Un-fucking-expected.

He realises then, just how  _ tired _ he is. He could lie then, he could lie to Gregory, say that Sherlock doesn't know what he's talking about, that he was trying to piss him off or ridicule him. He could. But what's the point?

Looking at those bright eyes, only a few centimeters from his own, he wonders. What's the point of lying when he could tell the truth? Should he lie, either the lie is never discovered and Gregory believes him and he will never have those eyes this close again, or the truth comes out and Gregory wouldn't forgive him and he will never have those eyes this close again. Should he tell the truth, either Gregory is disgusted and he will never have those eyes this close again, or Gregory would reciprocate and he may have those eyes this close again, hopefully in multiple occasions. The odds would not be in his favour if every option was equally possible, and knowing that they aren't, that the chances of Gregory reciprocating are already lower than 1:4, well... What's the point anyways, right?

Fuck it. Fuck it to hell and back.

"...He is an annoying little shit." Mycroft answered, a little breathless. "He is an awful brother most of the time. He can be straight up cruel when he wants to be, though that is usually reserved for myself. He is an ungrateful son who can't even bother calling his own mother and he is absolute hell to live with and I don't know how John puts up with him nor why. He is the most brilliant person I've ever met and he knows it. He is a manipulative bastard and he is a genius and he is the brother I asked for the first six years of my life and I still believe he is, at his core, a good person. Even if he doesn't know it himself, nor anyone else on this planet for that matter." He kept his eyes fixed on Greg's, mere milliliters apart now. "But he is no liar."

There was an audible gulp. A few blinks. Some short, ragged breaths. And then lips and lips and lips against lips and nothing else in the world mattered anymore. There might have been a growl and a squeak and sharp inhales and-

But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore.

Mycroft notices three things, all at once; his eyes are closed, all he can smell is Gregory, to the point of dizziness, but it's the most beautiful sensation he's ever felt, and he wants  _ more. _

There are parting lips and tongues and breathy moans and leaning into each other and hands, hands everywhere, messing up clothes and hair and pulling each other closer, closer, closer.

When they finally break apart they are both panting. Mycroft's eyes are so unfocused he can't see the look of absolute blissfulness on Greg's face, nor the way his eyes shine.

He does notice, after a moment, the softest smile he's ever seen in his life and he feels his heart jump in its place.

"I've been thinking about doing that for a long while now." Greg smiles and kisses a small peck on Mycroft's cheek and then another one on his swollen lips.

"Why?"

Greg chuckles. "Tell me, Mr. Holmes, what is the reason for wanting to kiss someone?" Greg gently circles his palm on Mycroft's back. "I fancy you, Mycroft. Have for a while actually. You are a pain in the ass, so aloof and superior to us mere mortals, a bigger arsehole than Sherlock at times and the most manipulative bastard on this side of the galaxy. But I still fancy you, want to know more about you. I figured you are not interested, way out of my league, think it's good at least I can be your friend. And hey, your kidnappings are the best quality service kidnappings I've ever known. You should stop doing that though, for real."

Dumbfounded. He felt dumbfounded. Wrong stepped. "I- don't have friends."

"Yes, you do. You just won't admit it. I've been your friend for a while now. I'm sure you have more friends too. Anthea is your friend. I am your friend." Greg's hand slid down from Mycroft' hair to his cheek, "I don't want to be your friend anymore, though."

Mycroft froze, his breath hitched. With their close distance, every minor change of expression was noticeable.

"I don't want to  _ just _ be your friend, Mycroft." Greg grins, "I want to date you, be the only obsession of yours, if anything Sherlock says is correct."

Mycroft shakes his head, "No, you don't mean it. You don't know anything, you —"

Mycroft stop abruptly, eyes almost crossed, when Greg presses his lips to his.

"I only have one question, will you give us both a chance?"

"A chance?" Mycroft blinks, still quite breathless.

"To date, be boyfriends, partners, whichever term you like to use." Greg smiles, and there are crinkles next to his eyes, "And just for your information, which if you have been checking on me, you should know already, I don't do casual. I don't hook up with friends if there's a chance to mess everything up and lose them. Too messy and not worth the risk for a hookup."

"I don't do casual, either."

"Good, now answer my question. Do you want me or not?"

Mycroft shakes his head, "You don't understand, Gregory. I... I am..." Mycroft wets his lips again.

"You are an obsessionist? Not sure if that's even the term, but your arsehole brother told me as much. And I just used the word obsession earlier. I want to be your obsessive subject." Greg pats Mycroft gently, "All I need to know is, do you want me in a romantic way?"

"...Yes." Mycroft sighs out his answer, his lips trembling, eyes suspiciously moist.

"Are you crying?" Greg smiles, it was a little funny to see Mycroft in such state, and it makes his heart ache slightly as well. He brushes his thumb under his eyes.

"You don't want this, Gregory." Mycroft sniffs, trying to control his sudden overwhelm of emotion, "I am difficult to date- My work, I can't talk about it, I will be gone for days--"

"Shh, that's okay. I'm a cop, I work long hours, I wake up at all hours of the night to deal with criminals, I often sleep at my office, I have odd hours of sleep. I understand the importance of work. It can be frustrating, but we will sort something out. Because we understand how important our jobs' are for us." Greg chuckles, "Plus, I am not an easy man myself. I am stubborn, I can literally press on you so much that it just makes you cry, like this."

"I am not crying." Mycroft looks to the side, protests, "I don't cry"

"Yes, you do. Everyone cries, I've cried watching Disney movies with my kids more times than a grown man probably should, and you should not feel ashamed about it. You do not need to hide from me, show me yourself."

Hands still trembling, Mycroft slowly, like afraid to scare away Greg, he puts his hands on the base of his neck.

"I know you, I could read you without a file, I know more than Sherlock would ever notice about you. I know what's your favourite colour in different seasons; I know you still visit your sister whenever you can, even if you dislike her husband. I know you have three children that you adore, I know the youngest is not yours, yet you love him unconditionally all the same. I know you tried to push back the divorce for your children for as long as you could. I know you are trying to quit smoking again, but you did not resist the temptation on the past two days. I know you like German Shepard, but you think Beagles are the best cop dogs. You will eat your favourite food first, but left the last bite to savour. You are bisexual, but you've had more female lovers than male. You treat everyone with respect, even the criminals you arrest, except for those who harm children, which you at least try to treat like human beings because you are not cruel. You sleep on your left side and you prefer to always face the door due to your occupation. You... I can go on and on, Gregory. I read you like a book. But you don't know me, you don't know how dangerous I can be. You don't know what kind of things I can do. You don't know me. You are used to dealing with Sherlock but you've got no idea just how much worse I can be.”

"Oh, that last one I do know a bit." Greg shuts him up with another small kiss. "I don't care if you're a million times worse that Sherlock. And you are right, I don't know much about you. I am a goldfish, if we are using yours and Sherlock's standards, you know that already. So of course I don't read people like you do. But you can tell me all that I can't read, I just ask a little patience of you. I am slow, everyone is slow in comparison to you two. But I'm not too slow, I guess? Considering I managed to handle both of you quite well through the years? And I'm told I can be quite charming, being so goddamn handsome as I am."

"Very." Mycroft says, sounding a bit breathless, "The most handsome man I've ever laid eyes upon."

"Sweet talk will get you everywhere," Greg said, voice rough. "So, did I successfully charm the British Government?"

"I- I don't know what you are talking about, I'm not the--"

"Stop pretending, c'mon. I know for a fact you can control CCTV's, you work with the secret services  _ and  _ they respect you, possibly even fear you. John told me over a pint once that you are a regular visitor to the Palace, are you friends with the Queen? Wait, hang on, do you have cameras on my flat? Because I can be gross and inappropriate. Like when I wank on my gross, old couch."

"There's no surveillance inside your flat, I swear. And you always have your curtains shut, so there's no way the camera across the street can catch anything... Not to mention I don't control them, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have time to check every CCTV in London myself." Mycroft lowers his hands, rests them on the leather seat next to his thighs and closes his eyes for a moment. "But you did just told me you did... that, on your couch."

Greg grabs his hands and places them back where they were.

"So, do I get to know if you also wank on your couch?" He asked with a relaxed smile.

"I- I... don't. It's, it's so... on the couch!" Mycroft turned bright red.

"Oh, you will find it's quite an interesting location to pleasure yourself. Unless you have one of those fancy ass couches that look fancy but are as hard as a rock, in which case it'll probably suck." Greg winks and places another kiss on the still-red cheek. "So are we all good here? You will not run away and we will try dating? I'm here for as long as you want me, ok?"

"I- I always want you," He admits in a murmur, turning redder, if possible.

Greg's grin widens, "So, may I kiss you now?"

It seems physically impossible for Mycroft to blush anymore, but he does. "You did plenty already." His grip on Greg's neck tightens, their noses are brushing together. 

"I did, didn't I?" Greg chuckled and pulled their lips together once again.

It was a long tender kiss, filled with love and passion. When they break the kiss to catch their breaths Mycroft moans and buries his face on Greg's neck, inhaling deeply, savouring his smell...

"Is this 'El amante' the 'El amante' I'm thinking of? We've been parked in front of this place for a while and I've seen no one walk in nor out, but it doesn't look exactly closed to me." It isn't the sweetest thing to say after such a kiss, but Greg couldn't help but wonder.

"Oh!" Mycroft turns and sees that they were, indeed, parked in front of the black polished shop. "It's a Spanish restaurant."

"But is it really that 'El amante'? I thought it had closed a few years ago!" As someone who enjoys Spanish food and who claimed to visit every Spanish restaurant in London, it felt wrong to not know it was still here.

"For all purposes to the public it has, indeed, closed down almost three years ago now. It became a small side thing for the family who owns it and they barely take customers any longer. They keep it to a few people only, always with reservations in advance and a few other requirements."

"And you are one of those few people they will still serve."

"Your assumption is correct, yes."

"So..." Greg tries to suppress his grin and looks at Mycroft with bright eyes.

"Would you like to join me for a dinner date in 'El amante' Gregory?"

Greg's grin only widens. "You'll tell me about this obsession of yours over dinner?" He asks, getting off of Mycroft and tries to straighten his clothes and hair.

Mycroft follows, straightening his shirt and suit, re-tying his tie, and running his fingers through his hair a few times hoping it's not as bad as Greg's looks right now. He could run a hand through his hair and straighten it a bit for him, he could, but he looks adorable like this, and it's even better knowing that  _ he  _ did that,  _ he  _ messed up that hair,  _ him. _

"I don't think that's an appropriate topic to discuss over dinner," He mumbles, ashamed.

"Are you telling me it's x-rated? Hadn't thought of you to be one with dirty thoughts Mycroft." Greg said, with humor and no malicious intention, as he pushed the door open and got out.

"Quiet down Gregory, we're in public now!" Mycroft hisses. "And no, it doesn't mean that, not all of it at least." He lowered his voice, "But to be fair, half of my thoughts about you should be considered x-rated..." He blushed.

Greg laughs at that, Mycroft rolls his eyes.

"Will you straighten up your jacket already Gregory and let us head inside. I need to have a word with the manager. I can't possibly do it for you when we are in public, I..."

"Sure, I'm not a big PDA person, I can deal with that." Greg pats down his jacket making sure everything looks nice. "We should talk about it though, at some time. Both the PDA thing and your obsession kink with me."

Mycroft scowls and walks to the door, not bothering to check if Greg was following him nor holding the door as he always did. That served him right, having to open the door for himself.

Greg, for his part, smiled widely at this. Dealing with the British Government himself, whom he recently discovered has some obsessive issues about him? No problem. This day was a weird one, as far as the days go, but he had a feeling that it was going to end great.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos are more than appreciated <3
> 
> You can find us both on Tumblr: 0TheRainbowMind0 is [here!](https://0therainbowmind0.tumblr.com) and Juli is [here](https://thisisnotjuli.tumblr.com) and [here!](https://fanishjuli.tumblr.com)


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